


four times Donnie almost told Peter he loves him and the one time he couldn't stop.

by manthepan



Category: Donnie Darko (2001), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Peter Parker, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, MJ is a lesbian I will not take criticism, Misunderstandings, and self hared sprinkled, but it's 4 because i cant fucking count, but they work it out dont worry, half a second of slurs and maybe sort of essence of a seasoning of dubcon, on my momma this is a happy fic, set in Donnie Darko canon era, sort of it's very light, technically this is an origin story for an AU my friend showed me, teens in love what's better than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manthepan/pseuds/manthepan
Summary: Tonight, it has to be tonight.  The night Donnie tells Peter he loves him.  No matter how many times he makes an ass of himself.
Relationships: Donnie Darko/Peter Parker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight, it has to be tonight. If it isn’t, then it’ll have to be next year, only Peter said something a few weeks ago about being able to skip senior year if he takes these special summer classes. Then he can graduate at 16 and go to college. What a fucking genius he is. College means leaving the state. Leaving the state means that with Peter goes every bit of confidence Donnie’s ever had in telling his best friend how he feels.

Today was the last day of junior year. Donnie and Peter set aside the long weekend to hang out at Donnie’s place while his family was away at a dance contest for Samantha. The only reason his parents allowed this was because it was Peter coming over. Goody two-shoes Peter Parker who would undoubtedly talk Donnie out of any mischief he suggested they get up to. That’s why his folks liked him so much; it’s why _Donnie_ likes him so much too.

Donnie doesn’t miss being in trouble, just the thrill of doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Now Peter is his thrill, his ‘thing’ he isn’t supposed to be involved with. No one knows that the romantic poems in his journal are about him. Peter is the crumpled up pack of smokes in Donnie’s back pocket, the BB gun under his bed painted all black so it looks more real. He hasn’t thought about setting anything on fire in years.

Right around the time he and Peter got paired up for a science project.

* * *

The first time was when Peter pulled up to his house. Donnie spent an hour hyping himself up. He could do this. Get it out of the way, leave enough time for Peter to run back to his aunt’s car and go home. Fuck up everything and raid the liquor cabinet after watching him drive off. Should heartbreak taste like whiskey or vodka?

Then Peter came trotting up with an armful of bedding, breathless from sprinting to the door. His smile cut through the sticky post-rain air and Donnie was speechless. They were right there, the words, he could feel them like a cough. Just get it out before May drove off. You’re losing time, she already waved and put the car in reverse. _Say it, say it right now!_

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

Shit.

* * *

The second time, Donnie would be forever grateful that he kept his mouth shut. Peter wanted to make brownies so he brought over the mix and Donnie had the eggs, milk and whatever else.

Everything was going fine, they were making a respectable mess of the kitchen, Donnie broke an egg on the counter.

Then Peter asked if Donnie wanted to lick the whisk and when Donnie said no, Peter made it his mission to get every drop of chocolate batter off of Mrs. Darko’s wire whisk.

It was so obvious how Donnie stared. Just stood there and watched Peter bring the utensil to his open mouth, run the flat of his tongue over every place he could reach. There was so much chocolate all over his face.

Donnie’s mind raced and it raced all the way around the ‘What does Peter look like with a dick in his mouth’ track until he was half hard in his sweats. He didn't know why the compulsion to confess was so strong in that moment, but God, he almost couldn't stop himself.

He got caught up in wondering if Goody Two-Shoes Parker would spit or swallow. Spitting is a good image; Donnie’s cum dripping down his chin and falling onto the floor in thick globs. But he knew Peter would swallow if for no other reason than to prevent a mess. Even if he hated the taste, even if he had no idea how fucking hot it would be to watch his adam’s apple bobas he did.

He’d swallow and wince from the bitterness, ask if it was good with a scratchy voice, and Donnie would lose his mind.

God, Peter would do such a good job, too. Past experience or not— _not_ —Donnie couldn’t imagine Peter being anything but careful and attentive, just like he always was. His eyes would water, gag reflex triggered so many times, and if it got to be too much, he’d grab onto Donnie’s thighs and whine. Through his nose. Halfway to a moan with his mouth full of dick. Donnie would take over from there and Peter would just sit there and endure it.

He’s so good...

Fuck.

“Peter--”

“Yeah?”

“You have that shit all over you.”

* * *

The third time was scary. The third time, Donnie almost said he loved him right before Peter opened his journal. He knew it wasn’t the one where he wrote about Peter. That one was hidden under all his boxers in a drawer. But it was still terrifying, knowing Peter wanted to read some of Donnie’s thoughts.

The trouble with them was that they were very rarely positive.

They weren’t your typical diary entries or even run of the mill angsty teen’s musings. Donnie’s brain was a terrible place to be sometimes.

In the past, Donnie had shown Peter his more light-hearted entries. Ones where he talks about the annoying substitute for history class or how his sleepwalking sometimes makes him feel like a time traveler.

When Peter asked to see Donnie’s whole notebook, all that went through his head were the pages and pages of Donnie begging no one for his brain to shut up. There’s one poem that started off fine enough but ends in the entire page being harshly scribbled out. There’s one where he talks, at length, about wanting to kill his entire family. But, don’t worry, the pages after that, Donnie spends two lines on how he’d miss them if they were gone.

He isn’t stable, is the point. He isn’t good. He isn’t someone Peter should really have in his life at all, let alone as a boyfriend. And right before Peter opened the front cover, Donnie wanted to blurt it out, catch Peter so off guard that the damn thing fell to the floor. Then Peter could freak out, reject him and go home. Maybe they could still be friends after that but at least he wouldn’t know just how fucked up Donnie was.

Even in the notebook about Peter, the “good” notebook, there were pages of anger.

 _I thought I was straight. I_ **was** _straight. All I wanted was a girlfriend, to have sex with girls, as many as I could get. Then you showed up and made me gay. Is that how that works? Is that how being a homo works? Does someone turn you gay like a fag vampire?_

_Why do you make me stare at you? Why are you exactly everything I could ever want, except you’re a boy? If you were a girl, everything would be easier. But you aren’t and I fucking stare at you in the locker rooms before gym like some kind of fucking creep. This is your fault._

Nothing about Donnie’s writing was good. In that moment, Donnie wasn’t sure what would ruin their friendship more; a gay confession or the truth that Peter’s best friend was a psycho. Either way, he had to stop him. Now.

Say something!

“Wait--”

Peter paused. “What?”

“Uh. That’s actually my math notebook. I left my writing one at school.”

“Oh!” Peter believed him immediately.

* * *

Fourth time was almost it. It really was. Donnie was so close to screaming it that he felt dizzy.

They were on the roof in their pajamas, where they shouldn’t be, but Donnie was able to persuade Peter with the promise of a clear night and stargazing. Somewhere along the way, they both forgot it was pouring rain.

They still went out. Peter brought up an umbrella while Donnie sat in the downpour.

“You look so pathetic,” Peter teased.

“Feels good.”

“Getting rained on?!”

“Yeah. Like, once you’re totally soaked, it starts to feel nice.”

“Huh…”

Then, Peter dropped the umbrella and let himself get drenched. He flinched, shoulders up to his ears and made a surprised sound which Donnie worried. What if Peter got sick? Donnie had done this enough times that he was pretty sure he was immune to the common cold. Peter always has an umbrella and a raincoat for when the weather was like this.

“It still feels bad…” he complained.

“Yeah, idiot, you aren’t all the way wet yet.”

“How often do you do this? Sit up here and look like Batman.”

Batman? “Whenever I don’t wanna be around anyone. No one likes being out in this so there aren’t even cars around.”

Peter looked at him strangely. “But you’re not alone right now.”

The guilt in his voice was a sucker punch right to Donnie’s gut.

“You’re different. I like being alone with you.”

Peter crossed his legs. “If you say so.”

A few moments passed and Peter gently let his head fall back, his hair darker from the rain and sighed.

“You’re right. It does feel kinda nice now.”

That’s when it hit him, that’s when Donnie wanted to tell him.

_I love you. I love you so much it feels like my whole chest is made of concrete when we’re together. In a good way. Somehow you make it feel good. Everything freezes up and I forget how to breathe. I love you in a way that makes me worry even more about my sanity._

That was assuming Peter was gay, too. There had been no girlfriend or crushes since they became friends, so maybe he just didn't like anyone. Or, he was gay and shuts up about it.

It was the unknown, the uncertainty, that made Donnie want to confess. He wanted to get it all out in the open so maybe that concrete feeling in his chest would go away. It wasn't bad, really, it was just so heavy. Being in love with someone who you had no idea what your shot with them was, was _heavy_.

And he wanted to say it because Peter looked so _perfect_ right then. They were in this moment together and the world slipped away in that gross, flowery sense that romance movies talked about. Maybe he could whisper it, so low that Peter couldn’t hear over the rainfall.

What good would that do, though, when Donnie wanted to announce it from the roof of the school for weeks? It would just make him more nuts. What if Peter just pretended not to hear? What if it still fucked their friendship up? What if, what if, what if...

Donnie realized he’d been staring again.

His head hurt.

“We should go in.”

* * *

They’re dripping onto the carpet, squishing up the stairs to Donnie’s room at about 11.

Donnie’s in the middle of comparing the sounds to something nasty when Peter freezes.

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

“I only brought this to sleep in. I don’t have anything else.”

“You can just borrow my stuff,” leaves Donnie’s mouth right as his brain throws the emergency brake. His voice comes out a little shaky at the end.

“Oh! Thanks,” Peter chirps back, as if Donnie didn’t just sign his soul away. All he can hear now are the sounds of car crashes. Horns blaring, tires screeching, fiberglass shattering and metal crumpling. What the hell did he just say?

Peter...in his pajamas. Peter Parker, the guys he’s been crushing on since freshman year, wearing his clothes. Clothes that will be baggy and fall off of his shoulders. Fuck, his pants definitely won’t fit him even with the draw string. Maybe he has something that’s too small. Something he got when he was younger and never bothered getting rid of. Old shorts with enough elastic to choke on Peter’s hips. Please, God, let there be _something_.

There isn’t. There isn’t a single goddamn thing. The only thing that could possibly, even remotely fit Peter is this light blue and white plaid set that Donnie got for Christmas a few years ago and never wore. Thanks, grandma.

“Uh...here,” Donnie mutters as he hands Peter the ensemble.

“Ooh, flannel! Thanks again. Be right back.” He darts out for the bathroom.

And then Donnie is alone in his room, sopping wet and totally unsure what to do with himself. What if the pants don’t fit? What if the shirt doesn’t fit either? What if Peter comes back in just his--

Holy shit, what if Peter isn’t wearing anything because he got soaked down to his underwear?

Oh, God. Oh, shit.

Donnie catches himself pacing, leaving a wet track in his carpet. A chill snaps him out of his spiral. He needs to change, too.

He’s in the middle of pulling a worn out white tee over his head when he hears his door open.

“Uh...Donnie?”

He freezes, staring down at his half clothed torso. Thankfully, Donnie’s almost fully dressed in his shirt and basketball shorts. His wet clothes are slung over his wooden desk chair.

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” Peter’s voice is so slight. The door is only open a sliver. “It doesn’t fit.”

Oh, fuck.

“ _wHA_ \--” Donnie clears his throat after his voice squeaks and breaks. “What doesn’t fit?”

“Well...the whole thing but I can make the shirt work. The pants just fall down. Do you have anything else?”

Donnie’s mouth flashes bone dry. No amount of swallowing helps. “If anything I had was gonna fit, it was that. We can raid Samantha’s room.”

Peter breaks into an airy laugh that barely sounds genuine. “No, that’s okay. Uh. Is it okay if we just get ready for bed?”

“You tired?” Donnie does his best not to sound mildly panicked. If Peter goes to sleep, there go all of Donnie’s chances. Peter leaves tomorrow right after breakfast. Fuck.

“Y-Yeah.”

Dammit. “Okay, I’ll start blowing up the air mattress.”

Then the door opens all the way and there’s Peter, red up to his ears, wearing Donnie’s sleep shirt and that’s _it._ The hem falls down halfway to his knees and the sleeves hang well past his fingertips. His hair isn’t as wet anymore so he must have dried off some, too.

Donnie can’t feel his...anything. His whole body is pins and needles. He can only hear his own quick breathing.

“I love you.”

Peter’s eyes bloom wide, the brown of them eating up all the light in the room. Now, Donnie’s breathless.

“What?” Peter says, but it sounds like he’s out of air.

“What?” Donnie echoes. No, seriously, what? What the hell did he just say?

Did he just…? Oh, my God. Donnie feels all the color drop out of his face. Despite the warmer, dryer clothing, he’s shivering. His hands hold his own biceps to try and stop it. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

“Y….You said--”

“No, I know what I said. Fuck. _Fuck_!” Peter jumps when Donnie shouts.

“Did you...mean to…?”

“No!” Donnie growls. But, then, “Yes? I-I did. I’ve been wanting to but...ah, fuck!”

Peter stands still, as if a bomb will go off if he moves. His hands are holding the hem of Donnie’s night shirt like a vice.

In the smallest voice he's ever heard, Peter asks; “Do you want me to go?”

It’s happening. This is when Donnie watches everything fall apart right in front of him. There’s a lump in his throat all of a sudden, his breathing stops.

“No.” Don’t fucking cry. “Do you want to go?”

Peter shakes his head. “No.”

Then there’s quiet again. It’s good that Peter isn’t leaving. Right? He wants to stay...for some reason.

“Donnie--”

“You need the air mattress…” Donnie turns sharply to his closet, his brain filling with sand and T.V snow.

“Donnie,” Peter says sharply, and he stops.

And then Peter is in his space, smelling thickly of the mustiness that comes with rain. Unfortunately, Donnie was already staring down so when Peter gets in front of him, he’s looking right into his eyes. His heart hurts, breathing hurts. His scalp stings and so does his nose. He’s really going to cry.

“Did you... I mean. Did you mean it?”

If he tries to talk, it’ll come out shaking and Donnie has too much pride for that so he nods.

“Oh…” is all Peter says.

“I’m sorry,” Donnie mumbles.

“No, that’s not what I mean! Uh…”

Smack.

Peter kisses him.

The impact hurts his teeth and his eyes go wide. Peter’s face is totally scrunched up, he looks like he’s bracing for something. All the hundreds of times and ways Donnie’s thought about what kissing him would be like, not once did he think Peter would kiss him first. He was convinced that the second the moment came up, he’d kiss Peter and let that do all the talking for him. But then after six, then twelve, then fifty chances came and went, Donnie wasn’t sure they’d ever get here.

And now they are.

The kiss breaks because Peter, once up on his tiptoes, let himself land flat-footed.

“Oh, my God,” Peter mumbles. He looks just as shocked as Donnie feels. Now they’re both dumbstruck.

Donnie’s mind goes dangerously silent. Suddenly, he’s got Peter’s face in his hands and they’re kissing again. This time they both gasp through their noses and Peter grapples onto Donnie’s shirt.

Neither one of them are well-versed in kissing and it shows. Not that they can really tell but the whole affair is blocky and awkward. They don’t know when to turn their heads or open their mouths so it all happens disjointedly. Peter whimpers out of frustration but Donnie registers it as something else and his hands swoop under the hem of Peter’s shirt.

“Ah!”

Donnie springs back, hands up. “What? What?”

Peter’s face is flushed, lips pinker. “Your hands are really cold.”

Donnie starts rubbing his palms against his shorts like he was ordered to. He doesn’t stop until he feels it burn. “There.”

“Okay…” Peter chuckles.

Friction-warmed hands apparently feel much better, because when he tentatively slides his fingers up Peter’s sides, landing on his shoulder blades, Peter hums and relaxes into it. Donnie can feel his self restraint quickly burning off.

Donnie moves in for a third kiss but Peter links his arms around his neck and shoves his face against the side of his throat.

“Are you okay?” Donnie asks, waiting for his brain to catch up.

“I kissed you…” Peter half groans. It sounds like he thinks he did something stupid.

“I kissed you, too,” Donnie reminds, shaping his tone like that’s a comfort.

“Yeah.”

His hands move up and down Peter’s back, fingertips pressing softly into his skin. He can feel his bones. Ribs, shoulder blades, the top part of his pelvis. Donnie quietly counts each notch of Peter’s spine like someone would count sheep. He gets stuck on that, it helps him relax.

Their contrast in size lets Donnie look over Peter’s shoulder, down at his hands as they move under his shirt. His mind instantly goes to the imagery of something alien moving under Peter’s skin. Then his mind jumps to himself being a parasite.

What happens now? Where do they go from here? Peter is going away to college and Donnie will be stuck here, missing him. He’ll want Peter’s constant attention and try his best not to beg for it. What if Peter gets a roommate who isn’t nice. Or _is_ nice. What if Donnie becomes this _thing_ holding him back? What if Peter wants to move away? What the ever loving fuck does Donnie have that Peter has any use for?

Peter hisses in through his teeth. “Donnie?”

Donnie blinks. He realizes he’s gripping Peter’s back hard, probably hurting him. Like before, he whips his hands away.

“Sorr--” he starts, then gets a good look at Peter. He's pressed completely against Donnie’s front and he can see how hard Peter’s blushing.

God, he yanked him close and kept him there.

Peter isn’t looking at him and it feels like he’s holding onto Donnie for dear life.

“No...it’s okay...it’s just. Uh. Y-You, uh...smell really good and…”

Donnie shifts, Peter winces. There’s something pressing into his thigh--

“Oh, shit.” A slanted smile creeps across Donnie’s lips. “That’s all it takes, huh?”

“Shut up!!”

Peter’s whole neck is red and the shirt is so baggy that Donnie has a front row seat to it.

Before Peter has the chance to defend himself, Donnie’s kissing him again. This time, his mouth is open, tongue pressing forward. Peter jerks back but Donnie is quick with a hand behind his head, holding him still. He changes the angle of his head and licks at Peter’s tongue again before pulling away.

“Use your tongue,” Donnie huffs hotly against his face.

“I dunno how…” He looks two parts ashamed and frantic.

“You think I do?” Donnie doesn’t. He really doesn’t. He’s just watched movies.

“It feels like you do.” The admission sends a surge of something primal through Donnie and he shoves in for another kiss, earning a startled noise out of Peter.

“Fuck.”

Peter is still freezing up and Donnie speaks almost entirely into Peter’s mouth, “Just do what I do.”

As is everything that’s happened in the past 10 minutes, getting to Donnie’s bed is a disorganized mess of hands not knowing where to go, kisses that start and end one-sidedly and walking with feet you’d think just sprouted four seconds ago. Somehow they collapse onto Donnie’s mattress with no one getting hurt.

Apparently, Peter didn’t know this was the destination because as soon as he finds himself on top of Donnie, bouncing from the springs, he bolts upright.

Which is a mistake on many accounts. Firstly, because it makes him straddle Donnie, who is unabashedly hard and undoubtedly pressing against him. But more importantly, it displays how he’s tenting the oversized pajama shirt. Donnie’s eyes are immediately drawn downward, but before he can reach for him, Peter shoves his hands in front of himself. Defeated, his hand falls to Peter’s hip and that makes light of Peter's biggest mistake.

Donnie’s eyes go wide. “Hang on…”

Forgetting the embarrassment about his erection, both of Peter’s hands grab at Donnie’s wrist. “Nononono wait! Before you say anything, this is why I asked about going to bed! I just wanted--”

In a flash, Donnie flips them and uses his strength against Peter to yank his hands free and lift up the nightshirt. Every molecule of air leaves Donnie’s lungs like it was kicked out of him.

Peter’s completely naked underneath. Pressing his knees together does nothing but make his prick bounce and Donnie’s mouth water.

“My underwear was wet, too…” Peter whines pathetically. He pulls down at the hem of his shirt in vain before covering himself with his hands. “Let go…”

“Hang on,” Donnie smirks. What a view. He twitches in his boxers but the world goes deathly silent when he hears Peter sniffle.

He looks up; Peter looks like he’s one light breeze away from bursting at the seams with tears. Donnie immediately drops the shirt and sits back on his knees.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

Peter’s palms dig into his eyes and he lets out a cry. Oh, fuck. Oh, no.

“I didn’t know this is what was gonna happen.”

Donnie’s almost too scared to talk. “What do you mean…?”

Peter’s arms shoot out. “This! Any of this! I just kissed you and now we’re doing this!”

Something heavy cracks inside of Donnie’s chest. “We don’t have to…do anything.”

Peter’s looking up at the ceiling, tears falling fast down his temples and into his hair. “I know! But it’s just… I don’t know…” His hands fall back to his eyes, grinding into them while he lets out a whine.

“I can sleep downstairs, Pete. You want me to?”

The fact that it takes Peter a while to answer hurts. But Donnie gets it.

“No. Can we just talk?”

Donnie sighs. “Yeah.”

Peter sits up and Donnie backs all the way off. Tthey both stare down at the space between them.

“Tissues,” Donnie mutters.

“Huh?”

He points to his night stand. “Right there.”

“Oh,” Peter acknowledges before taking the box and putting it in front of himself. He takes a handful and doesn’t use them for his eyes or even his runny nose. He just worries the balled up collection of tissues in his hands and uses Donnie’s night shirt to wipe his nose.

Cute.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Donnie mentions finally.

“I know.”

“I didn’t know I was doing something wrong.”

“I know,” Peter repeats.

Quiet again.

Donnie frowns and fusses with his hair. “Y‘know, you said you wanted to talk but you aren’t talking.”

“I’m trying to figure out what to say!” Peter pipes up defensively.

Donnie leans back to sit, one leg stretched out and the other bent.

After the amount of time it takes Donnie to come up with a plan to beat the absolute shit out of that broken down junk car he found last time he woke up from sleep walking, Peter starts talking.

“I like you, too.”

Despite that being all Donnie’s ever wanted to hear, it doesn’t hit him like he thought it would. He’s still so angry at himself that he can’t really revel in it.

“I figured,” he says plainly. “You kissed me first.”

Peter’s face flames. “Yeah, well—!”

“I didn’t say I _liked_ you, though.” I said ‘love.’ Like a fucking idiot.

Peter gets embarrassed again, this time it doesn’t seem to come from a place of shame. He laughs once and looks down at his feet. He’s got his knees inside of the pajama shirt and tucked against his chest. He’s in the perfect shape for Donnie to wrap his arms all the way around and keep close.

“I know.”

“Is that okay?” Donnie asks, still feeling annoyed.

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Alright. They’re getting somewhere. Donnie‘s brain can finally churn past all those damn hypotheticals.

“So, why did you start crying?”

“Uh,” Peter sniffles and rubs his nose into his sleeve again. “I was scared and really embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“You saw me naked!!”

“So you cried?”

“That’s not the only reason!! One second we were standing over there and the next I was naked and you were staring and I was...you know…”

“You were embarrassed because you were turned on and I saw?”

“Well...yeah. I thought you were going to make fun of me.”

“I was turned on, too.”

Donnie immediately clocks when Peter's eyes dart to his friend’s lap.

“I’m not anymore! Making you cry isn’t hot!” Sure, he’s fucked up but not _that_ much.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, obviously,” Peter tries to recover. He glances around, trying to find anything else in the room to look at.

“S-so…” he continues. “Earlier when you said that you, y’know, you said you’ve been wanting to say it. For how long?”

Donnie groans. “Oh, c’mon, _that’s_ what you wanna talk about?”

“You tell me, and I’ll tell you when I started to like you. Deal?”

Oh, absolutely. Donnie’s attitude flips and he leans forward, sitting cross-legged.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve been wanting to tell you since you asked for my help with the science fair.”

Something about Donnie’s response, either how casual it was or the actual information in it, stuns Peter. He goes stiff as a board, his expression changes in a second. Donnie forces a small laugh. Was that the wrong way to answer…?

“That was over a year ago…”

To Donnie, that seems silly to point out. He scoffs. “Well, yeah.”

“You’ve liked me for that long…?” He still sounds completely floored, like he was expecting Donnie to say he’s had this crush for a few weeks.

Donnie feels a bit bashful, his posture fails and he slouches more. “No. That’s just how long I’ve wanted to tell you I liked you. I’ve liked you since your first day of school.”

Peter explodes into pink and his face crinkles. Is he gonna cry again?

“What? What did I do now?”

“That’s a long time…” He sniffles. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Are you mad at me?!” Donnie accuses.

“No! It’s just… that’s a long time…”

“You said that.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter warbles.

Donnie’s chest is on fire. He leans forward, on all fours and closes the distance between them. His hand immediately goes to Peter’s face and shoves the tears away. “For what? C’mon, why are you crying again? You’re making me feel like an asshole.”

“It,” inhale. “Must have been really hard.” Sniffle. “Because you liked me so much for so long and I didn’t even notice.” Then Peter starts to cry harder. “And I told you I liked MJ!”

Donnie hangs his head and lets out one bitter laugh before looking back up at Peter. “Yeah, that sucked. Trust me, Pete, I had no fucking idea what I was feeling for a long time. Even if I told you right then, I wouldn’t know what to do after that.”

Thankfully, that whole thing with Peter liking MJ was a very short stint of confusing intimidation with romantic attraction. Looking back, it’s kind of funny.

He sits himself cross-legged again but this time, his knees touch Peter’s legs. He cards a hand through Peter’s hair. It’s all messy and Peter blinks hard when Donnie’s fingers catch on the tangles. He repeats the movements until there are no more snags and Peter isn’t crying anymore.

“You okay, now?” Donnie asks, pushing Peter’s bangs back.

Peter nods.

Something overpowers Donnie, he can’t think of anything else but putting a kiss right on the center of Peter’s forehead. So he does. Peter makes this content little hum and Donnie feels every organ in his body do a summersault. He leans away and they both stare at each other for a few seconds.

Their kisses until now have been hectic, like they were going to explode. This one’s different. It’s slow and warm on the approach. Until now, Donnie didn’t really know how Peter’s lips felt; if they were chapped or soft, or even what his skin tasted like. The way they’ve been kissing didn’t give him much time to really take it all in. As Donnie leans closer, he tilts his head and Peter turns the other way slightly. This kiss will be different.

Peter’s lips aren’t chapped and they taste like cinnamon toothpaste. This time, Peter’s tongue goes for Donnie’s first and they move their mouths together. When Donnie pushes him back onto the bed, it isn’t a shock. They both stretch out and Peter’s legs open to let him slot between them. Here is where Donnie is reminded that Peter isn’t wearing anything underneath the shirt because when his hips unconsciously rock against the boy below him, Peter gasps, breaking the kiss, and all Donnie can feel is warmth. Peter’s warmth. The heat from his body that is very much underneath him and not at all a dream like normal. He kisses him harder. Peter’s hands wind their way around his neck and keep him in.

This is something Donnie could get used to.

Every awful poem, every scathing entry where he cursed himself, where lifted a huge middle finger to the world for making him this way, making him fall in love with a boy--just _this one_ \--seemed so silly now. Peter likes him back. LIkes him enough to put up with all the other bullshit that makes Donnie who he is. Likes him enough to trust him like this, with his heart and his body. Peter’s friendship has always felt like a gift and his affection is the same. He feels like he hit the lottery. All he can think is how good this feels, how he, in all of the ways he’s fucked up, still gets to hold Peter and be held in return.

He almost says ‘I love you’ again when he reaches under the shirt, hands on Peter’s ribs and sliding up. The pad of his thumb sweeps over Peter’s nipple, which gets him a surprising reaction. Peter moans. Not like he has been; all sweet and syrupy into Donnie’s mouth. But in a jolt. His muscles tense and Donnie feels Peter’s heels dig into the bed.

“Was that good?”

Peter looks just as alarmed as Donnie. He has a hand over his mouth when he nods.

Donnie’s jaw tenses. “Want me to do it again?”

“Uh…”

Without waiting for Peter to recalibrate, Donnie rubs his nipple more deliberately and gets a more deliberate-sounding noise. Well. If one was good, two must feel great.

Donnie lunges for Peter’s neck instead of going to kiss him this time. He wants to hear his noises. He spreads his hands out over Peter’s chest and rubs down, not the most tactical approach but it gets the intended reaction nonetheless.

“Mm! Ah!” Peter bucks up and Donnie smiles against his pulse.

“I really like this,” Donnie huffs at the small wet spot he’s made under Peter’s jaw.

Peter starts to reply, but gets cut off by Donnie’s hand grabbing his erection. Just like with his chest, the lightest touch seems to set him off. He arches again and moans right into Donnie’s ear. Without them doing much at all, Peter’s already this excited. Not that Donnie isn’t so hard in his underwear that it aches; if Peter made a move for him, he’d probably come right then. Good thing Peter’s hands haven’t moved from balling up Donnie’s sleeves.

Donnie’s always wanted this, wanted to know what Peter felt like here. He looks down to watch, leans back a little and admires how Peter’s prick almost disappears in his grasp. His is so much different from Donnie’s. Where he gets dark and almost purple-red at the tip when he’s really hard, Peter’s is a lovely blush pink. The way it’s curved up makes Donnie immediately think of Peter’s belly button filling with cum when he jerks off.

Donnie keeps a loose fist as he slides up to Peter’s slit, where he’s greeted with a fresh bead of precome. The boy beneath him shivers and finally lets go of him, covering his mouth. But that just means he starts whining and moaning through his nose which is way, way hotter. His eyes are closed tight and without context, you’d think he was in pain. Donnie spends some time on Peter’s head, rubbing every finger over it slowly, creating a slick in his hands before pumping him again. Over and over until he feels Peter’s legs shaking.

“You okay?”

For a few seconds, Peter doesn’t say or do anything, then he nods in three slight, fast motions.

“Can I try something?”

The noise that comes from Peter almost sounds sad, dreading. His hand moves away from his mouth and he lets himself hold onto the sheets now that Donnie’s nearly out of reach.

“What?” Peter manages, voice wet.

As a response, Donnie gets up onto his knees and shoves his pajama bottoms and underwear down. Subconsciously, this is a test. Peter’s said he likes Donnie but has he thought about doing this kind of stuff? Would he be grossed out by another guy’s junk? Is this where Peter draws the line and says this was all a mistake?

Instead, Peter gawks down at Donnie’s dick like...like...actually this is an expression Donnie isn’t sure about. It looks like fear. He starts to put himself back into his pants.

“Maybe not, huh?”

“No!” Peter yells, sitting up in a flash. “I mean--! Not _no_ but just… I didn’t know what to expect but you’re just…” Peter proceeds to start a lot of words and not finish any of them. Donnie laughs once while Peter takes a breath. “I don’t wanna stop. I was just _really_ caught off guard.”

Not entirely sure what Peter means, Donnie lets it go with a quick kiss. “Okay. Well, c’mere.” He grabs Peter’s hips, fingers pressing into the small of his back, and forces them closer. Donnie settles, Peter’s legs remaining loosely around his waist.

Donnie’s cock presses heavy onto Peter’s front and it seems he likes the feeling, because his cock twitches at the soft press. Both boys watch as Donnie grabs them in one hand and starts to stroke. They barely fit but that doesn’t matter, Peter’s moaning immediately. Donnie looks up and he can’t stop himself from crashing a hungry kiss against his mouth. God, he loves when Peter moans into kisses, especially ones where their jaws open wide and it gets sloppy.

“Mmh! Mm! Donn--! Do--! Wait!”

Without stopping his hand, Donnie breaks away from the kiss and bites Peter’s shoulder. “What?”

“Donnie!” Peter repeats desperately. His hips start bucking up into Donnie’s hand, causing more friction. Fuck. They’re both watching again. Everything is all slippery and shiny wet and the _sound_ it’s making. Donnie speeds up and moans long and loud. He’s gonna come soon. Peter’s hands fly to hid wrist, gripping but not trying to stop him.

“Donnie, Donnie, Donnie! More, more more m--AH! I’m--!!”

Watching Peter come rocks Donnie’s world, flips it upside down and knocks it into another galaxy. He squirts high once, almost hitting himself in the face, and then each pulse after weakens until he’s oozing thickly onto Donnie’s hand. Every time, a new wave of cum is partnered with a meek whimper. Donnie’s completely hypnotized.

He only snaps out of it when Peter collapses back onto the pillows, panting and letting out little noises every handful of seconds.

Holy fuck. Did that just happen?

“You okay?” Donnie asks, keeping his hand upright and subtly hoping nothing got on his blankets. That’s not something he wants to explain to his mom.

This time, when Peter nods, it’s relaxed. “Uh-huh…” Slowly, he turns to look at Donnie and he frowns a bit. “You didn’t…”

“I know. Hold still,” and just like that, Donnie clambers up to straddle Peter’s hips. He was so, so close when Peter came and watching it nearly put him over the edge, but then he stopped short. If he doesn’t finish right now, he might go insane.

He uses Peter’s cum to make himself slippery and starts jerking off with a frantic pace. Peter barely has time to reach for Donnie’s tensing stomach before he’s shooting hot, thick ribbons onto the front of Peter’s shirt. Towards the end of it, Donnie falls forward, catching himself on his other hand while he milks his orgasm out.

Peter gasped when the first string of cum splashed onto him but after that, one hand absentmindedly pet at Donnie’s thigh, like an encouragement. It felt like one.

Since it’s messed up anyway, Donnie grabs the hem of the night shirt and cleans his hand off.

“Oh, _gross_!” Peter proclaims with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Donnie starts to unbutton the shit, pushing it open as he goes until Peter is objectively naked below him.

Cheeks flushed, eyes dark and expecting, hair still a little bit of a mess. He’s looking right at Donnie. In his eyes. And he smiles.

“That felt really good.”

“I love you.”

They speak at the same time.

Peter freezes, face reddening.

“Yeah…”

“I love you so much.” Donnie’s voice is broken up by panting.

“I--”

“This isn’t a dream, right?”

Something about how Donnie says it, like he’s suddenly too fragile to touch, makes Peter sit up again. The shirt falls off of him completely now. His hands lift to Donnie’s face and hold his cheeks.

“Right?” Donnie asks again.

“No,” Peter’s voice is soft. “Unless we’re having the same dream at the same time and they’ve somehow converged into a parallel plane of unconsciousness.”

Donnie leans in, not for a kiss, just to rest his forehead against Peter’s. His eyes close slowly. There was a moment of panic he needed to work through. Donnie’s had dreams just like this; they’re finally together, everything is perfect and fireworks and bliss. Then Peter is gone. Donnie wakes up, it’s 3AM and he has yet another pair of underwear to throw into the laundry. Going back to sleep always felt pointless.

He puts his hands over Peter’s and pushes them against his face harder, sighing. “Good.”

Peter steals a quick kiss and then it’s quiet once again. After they’ve both had a chance to calm down, Donnie’s eyes open and his hands drop, taking the shirt from behind Peter. He balls it up and throws it at his basket.

“That was crazy,” Donnie mentions as Peter relaxes back against the pillows.

“Mhm…” He sounds somewhat drowsy.

“You’re not tired now, are you?”

Peter throws him a weak but still incredulous look. “It’s after midnight and we just...did that! Of course I’m sleepy now.”

Donnie whips his shirt off and lets it fall to his floor. “I’m not tired.” Then he strips his bottoms and leaves them wherever his shirt is. “Not even close.”

The fact that Donnie is still as hard as ever hits Peter like a smack in the face. His jaw goes slack but as Donnie crawls over him, he pulls his lips between his teeth. Clearly, he likes what he sees. And so does Donnie. Peter; all lax and languid, soft and malleable from the aftermath of what was probably a really strong orgasm. Not even close to hard again, sticky from his own cum. Donnie’s mouth suddenly feels very lonely. How would it feel to suck Peter off until he got hard again in his mouth?

“I wanna go again,” Donnie says lowly.

“W-w-wait. Hang on, Donnie,” Peter fumbles. “I’m not ready yet and--MM!?”

He’s cut off abruptly by a claiming kiss and Donnie’s hand cupping his sex possessively.

He pulls away once he feels Peter start to respond under his palm.

“You know how dudes fuck, right?”

“What?” Peter replies, breathless.

Donnie explains by putting the pad of his thumb over Peter’s hole and pushing just enough to make Peter retract and scoot away. Donnie doesn’t let up and stalks him up the bed until Peter’s head knocks into the headboard.

“One guy puts his dick in here and it’s supposed to feel good.”

“You know how to do it?” Peter can’t seem to decide if he wants to sound accusatory or hesitant.

“Can’t be that hard. I know the basics.” He replaces his thumb with his forefinger and pushes in to the first knuckle. Peter yelps and holds tight onto Donnie’s wrist.

“Wait!”

“Not yet. I gotta get some stuff. You wanna?”

“It’ll feel good? AH!”

Donnie twists his finger inside. “I’m gonna do my best.” He leans in and kisses Peter’s jaw. “Go slow, talk to you. I’ll make it good.”

“Mm...okay.”

“Okay,” Donnie repeats, refusing to hide the triumph in his tone. “Be right back.”

He pulls away and dashes out of his room. Peter can’t stop himself from laughing at the sight of Donnie’s hard dick bouncing with every foot fall and his bare ass disappearing down the hall.

He comes back with a condom and a towel. Peter swallows. “What’s the towel for?”

“To put under you.” Like it should be obvious.

Peter flushes. “Oh, okay. Uh...what do I do?”

Donnie grabs the conspicuously-placed bottle of lotion on his nightstand before plopping his collection onto the bed. “Tell me if it feels good or if you wanna stop.”

Peter looks relieved that he doesn’t have to learn anything on the fly. He visibly relaxes into the bed more. “Okay.”

Despite his newly adorned bravado, Donnie’s mind is a trainwreck. There isn’t a single coherent line of thought in sight. He’s seen two gay pornos, both of them didn’t do shit for him but he watched as much as he could to learn a thing or two. The only takeaway he got was that you needed a condom and lube. There were so many positions at a super fast pace and it was just...gross. That’s not how he wanted to have sex with Peter. It was all wet smacking noises and loud, whining moans that grated on Donnie’s nerves. The guy who took it always sounded or looked like he was enduring some kind of abuse rather than having sex that supposedly felt good.

Donnie knew it would be different with Peter. If they ever got the chance, he’d make it so good for him. Donnie’s seen straight porn when it looks like something out of a love movie. That’s what he wants. That’s what Peter deserves.

“Ready?” Donnie asks now that he’s got everything in place; the supplies and Peter.

“I guess so,” he replies, his anxiety evident.

Really, Donnie’s just as nervous. He’s never done this before, just thought about it about a hundred times. This is way different. If he fucks this up, no matter how much Peter might like him, it’s all over. He has to stop if Peter says so. Doesn’t matter how long Donnie’s waited and wished for this.

He unfolds the soft bath towel, waits for Peter to lift his hips and slides it underneath him.

“Open your legs,” Donnie instructs next. Peter complies with a range of motion Donnie was not prepared for. Peter’s knees almost touch the damn mattress. Donnie reels for a moment as his thoughts all obsessively congregate over Peter’s flexibility. He wants to push his knees flat onto his bed, spread him out so wide and—

“Donnie?”

Shit. “Sorry.”

Next, the condom. That’s the most time consuming and motor skill-demanding task and the further they get into this, the more useless mush Donnie’s brain will become. He doesn’t need Peter watching him fumbling with a rubber for 15 minutes. He isn’t a fan of how it feels on him; the lubricant is cold against his skin and now his hands smell like latex.

Hopefully Elizabeth doesn’t notice this missing from the box under her bed. She doesn’t have a boyfriend right now so, really, Donnie is doing her a favor by putting her money to use. If anything, maybe this will teach her to not be so fucking loud on the phone at night.

_‘No, they’re under my bed! You never know when you need to be ready. I got them big because you know I’m not gonna waste my time one some small-dicked loser.’_

Nasty.

Anyway: Peter.

Donnie gets a good glob of lotion on his right index and middle finger when Peter’s legs start to close.

“Uh. What are you doing?” He sounds like he has an inclination, though.

“You gotta be all slippery,” Donnie returns.

Peter’s knees stay together.

“I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

It takes a few pleading kisses on Peter’s shins and kneecaps but he finally lets Donnie nudge his knees out again. Mm, that was nice. Just that small action of spreading Peter’s knees. There’s half a thought to ask to do it again just for the sake of it.

Donnie leans forward and crawls up to be right over Peter. God, he’s so pretty like this. And it’s all for him to take in. Which Donnie does, both fingertips pressing against his hole. First he just pets the outside, feels Peter flutter and smiles when he hears his hands tighten in the bed sheets.

“S’cold…” he whines.

Donnie presses a kiss to the corners of his mouth. “It’ll get better.”

Then, he pushes his index in, all the way.

“Ah! That’s weird! That feels weird!!” Peter’s face is scrunched up, eyes closed tight.

“Hang on…”

Donnie is doing his damndest not to get lost in how tight Peter is, how his insides feel and how there’s so much texture. Somewhere, he bemoans that some of it will be lost by virtue of the condom but he’d rather Peter feel good and not have to worry about so much clean up.

Donnie rotates his wrist and Peter churns under him, letting out small noises. He doesn't look like he’s enjoying this yet. Then he puts in his middle finger and Peter’s eyes snap open.

“Donnie-Donnie, wait!” And he does.

“Hurts?”

“N-No. I don’t think so…”

Donnie turns his fingers again, crosses them inside and pushes further in. Fuck, he has no idea what he’s doing…

But then, Peter’s hands smack into the pillow and grip down. He clenches hard around Donnie’s fingers and it feels like that pulls him in a little. Donnie curls his fingers up and pulls them back.

“Ah! Donnie!” Peter’s arching now. That’s a good sign.

“You like it?”

“I...it just feels...it feels like a lot. Go slow…”

Donnie takes a second to look down at Peter’s body instead of studying his face and he’s hard. Holy shit, he’s _really_ hard.

What if…?

Peter almost screams, legs attempting to press together, but they can't on account of Donnie's head being in the way.

Peter’s cock fits perfectly snug in Donnie’s mouth and tastes way different from his lips. Not bad, just different. For a few seconds, he holds still and waits to see what Peter will do.

Which is, much to Donnie’s pleasure, grip onto his hair and grind his hips up, making Donnie’s nose press into his honey brown hair. As much as he’s able, Donnie smiles as he slides up Peter’s dick and keeps his slow pace with his fingers. Pretty soon, there’s nothing but a chain of his name and moans filling the room and this is what heaven must sound like.

Donnie pushes his hips into the mattress, so needy for the friction. This is so hot, Peter sounds so good, feels like a vice around his fingers and tastes fucking incredible. Does this count as one of the times he wants to say he loves Peter? It’s all he’s thinking. He loves his voice and the taste of his precome and the way he’s yanking on Donnie’s hair so much that it hurts a little. He loves every second of this and he loves Peter a hundred times more. He could do this for hours.

Peter has other plans, though. He doesn’t give Donnie much of a warning, just a bitten off version of his name before Peter’s spilling into his mouth and halfway down his throat. Cum tastes like nickels and sweat. Not that great if he’s honest, but it’s Peter’s so he doesn’t care. Donnie eases his mouth all the way down to Peter’s hilt and swallows everything. His fingers stay in as he sits back up.

He lets out a satisfied chuckle when he looks at Peter. “Good?”

Peter nods while his chest heaves.

“Good. Now flip over.”

Peter shakes his head. “Can’t move.”

“That’s okay.” And Donnie removes himself completely from Peter’s body, garnering a cry that reveals he’s really sensitive, and grabs his hips to turn him over onto his belly. All he does as protest is groan and let his limbs flop where they may.

Donnie gets up onto his knees and brings Peter’s ass to his hips. His cock slides wet and heavy against Peter’s cleft. That gets Peter’s attention and his arms hook under Donnie’s pillow. Again, Donnie drags himself purposefully between Peter’s cheeks, smearing the leftover lotion and the lube from his condom all over his entrance.

“I’ll make it good, Pete, I promise…” he husks as he lines himself up.

Peter presses his face hard into the pillow and Donnie takes his clean hand and rubs it up and down Peter’s back, making the boy’s spine bow further down. Fucking fuck he’s so pretty. He’s so fucking perfect.

“I love you.”

Peter lets out a little whimper, his sex tenses.

“I love you, Peter. I love you so much…”

Donnie’s name gets cut in half from Peter’s lips as he slides in. Both of them make a version of a strangled moan as he goes. Peter’s so tight it hurts at first, Donnie isn’t sure he’s gonna fit all the way. Peter’s heat sears him through the condom and despite his worries, he can feel all of Peter’s little ridges. Inch by inch he sheaths himself inside, stretching Peter so much as he does.

This is unreal. This feels too good. Donnie’s mouth hangs open, his hands gripping Peter’s hips hard. This is insane.

Finally it stops, their hips make gentle, pressing contact. They’re both shaking. Donnie can barely hear anything over his heaving breaths.

“Peter,” he calls out with a voice crack.

“Mm-!” is what he gets back.

“You feel so fucking good…”

“Mhm…!”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, can I move?”

Peter nods swiftly.

On the drag back, the condom almost rolls off. Just watching himself pull free of Peter’s insides is almost enough to make Donnie come.

“Donnie-!”

His attention snaps to Peter.

“Go faster. It feels weird…”

Donnie falls forward a bit, hands shifting to hold Peter’s ribs. “You gotta relax. It’s too tight.”

Peter mewls. “M’trying… you’re really big and it hurts.”

Donnie instinctively kisses Peter’s shoulder blade and apologizes. “We can stop.”

“No, no. I don’t wanna. Just move faster. Please.”

“Okay.”

God, Donnie’s mind is in a million places at once. Blown apart by this pleasure, then compressed under the weight of their world and every ounce of Peter’s trust.

Donnie moves back then presses fully back in again, writhing his hips as Peter swallows him up and pulses all around his cock. Going faster is way easier said than done. Donnie’s already a hair’s breadth from coming and they’ve barely started. Going faster sacrifices any rhythm Donnie wanted to maintain but Peter wails every time he fucks into him all the way.

Just as he suspected, Donnie feels his orgasm taking hold way too soon.

“No...no, no, no,” he whispers to himself but Peter somehow manages to hear.

“What’s wrong?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Gonna come. I don’t wanna yet. You feel so fucking good.”

That gets the sexiest moan yet out of Peter. He even shoves back into Donnie and it sends a jolt from the top of his head into his balls. Donnie’s toes curl and that’s almost it for him. Only Peter does it again, and again.

“Peter… Peter, Peter. I--”

“I know. Me, too.”

“I love you.”

“Me, too.”

“I love you.”

“Donnie--”

“I’m coming! _Ah_!!”

“Donnie, please…”

He has no idea what Peter’s begging for but he’ll give him anything.

His mind is nothing but static as Donnie pulls all the way out, rips his condom off and grips his base hard and with the other hand, spreads Peter’s ass to aim his come right against his intimacy. His slit presses against Peter’s hole and makes a complete mess of it, Peter letting out these quivering moans while he puckers around nothing.

Then, he collapses onto Peter’s back, both of them a little tacky with sweat.

Donnie’s sense returns to him because Peter is gently tapping at his leg.

“Donnie...I can’t…”

Every muscle Peter has from the hips down is shaking. Goosebumps are prickling his skin and he looks like he’s crying. Fuck. Oh, no.

Donnie is immediately off of him, leaning down to Peter’s face.

“What, what happened…? Are you okay?”

“Can I lay down now?”

“Shit, yeah. Hang on--” As Donnie forces his knees not to give out in standing from the bed, he notices Peter came a third time. It’s mostly clear, only a little milky and almost soaked into the towel by now but it’s there. Peter came from having sex. With Donnie. Without being touched. Oh, God.

He’s quick to clean Peter off, only using a dry part of the towel with each pass over his body. Then, Peter crumples, moving his head away from the big wet spot he made on Donnie’s pillowcase.

Donnie is eager to join him. So much so that he tosses all his things to the floor, puts on just his underwear and lays on his side facing Peter. His hand, also wiped clean, cups Peter’s cheek. He was definitely crying.

“I’m sorry…” he hushes.

“What?”

“You said it hurt.”

Peter snivels. “It did, at first. But then it felt really good. That was so crazy.”

Donnie’s heart leaps and he has to swallow it back down. “You liked it?”

Peter nods, turns his head and kisses the heel of Donnie’s palm. “Yeah…”

Before Donnie’s emotions overtake him, he lunges at Peter and kisses him, hand moving to the back of his head like before. He feels Peter smiles against him and his chest feels like it’s going to rip apart and the sun is gonna shoot out.

“I love you.”

Peter laughs as he leans away. “You’ve been saying that a lot.”

“I told you, I’ve wanted to say it this whole time,” Donnie feels the need to defend himself.

“No, it’s nice. I like it when you say it.”

“Good,” Donnie returns sternly.

Peter giggles again and kisses the tip of Donnie’s nose which catches him off guard, makes his thoughts flicker. He blinks a few times.

“I love you, too. I kind of said it earlier but I wanna say it better.”

Every tendon in Donnie goes taut. “Since when--wait. You never told me! We had a deal and you never told me when you started liking me!”

Looks like Peter forgot all about it, too. “Oh. Uh...You remember that time in English and we had to go up and put where between ‘love’ and ‘anger’ a character’s reaction to something was?”

First half of the year. Close to midterms. Donnie got detention that day and couldn’t walk Peter home. Man, he was pissed. “Yeah?”

Peter laughs behind a smile. “You went off about how complex human emotion was, how there are so many different ways to feel about something. I’ve never seen you get so fired up over some stupid class assignment. I always knew you were smart but you really became brilliant that time. I knew then that you liked writing a lot so I knew you knew what you were talking about.” He half-shrugs. “I dunno. It made me fall hard for some reason.”

Donnie scowls. “How come you never said anything?”

“Probably one of the million reasons you didn’t either.”

That’s fair.

Donnie scoots in closer and hums when Peter hooks a leg over his knees.

Peter’s eyes close and he sighs. Then he laughs. “Okay, _now_ can I go to sleep?”

“Can I stay here?” Donnie counters.

Peter wriggles his way to Donnie’s chest. “You better.”

Donnie’s frozen. It happened. Sure, the road it get here was more than a little janked up and he made Peter cry way too many times but they got here. He kisses the top of Peter’s head.

“You want a blanket?”

Peter shakes his head then feels around for Donnie’s arm and drapes it over himself. “No. I’m warm like this.”

“Okay.”

Peter gasps and swings his head up hard, smacking right into Donnie’s face. “Wait!!’

“Ah, fuck! Ow!! Augh…”

“Sorry, but listen!”

“Fuck-- _What_?!” Jesus, he can taste blood.

“Are we boyfriends now?”

Donnie holds his nose. “What?”

“Boyfriends. Like. We’re going steady now?”

“Well, yeah! How many guys you think I’ve said ‘I love you' to, huh?”

“I just don’t want us to go back to not saying anything. We’re boyfriends.”

“Yes, yes--God, fuck! I think you broke my damn face!”

Peter sighs and while Donnie can’t see, he knows Peter rolled his eyes. “Hold still.”

His hands clamp down onto Donnie’s cheeks. “Lip is swollen, hang on.”

He kisses him and Donnie makes sure to let out a deliberate and annoyed “OW.” from the side of his mouth.

“There. You’re all better.”

“Go the hell to sleep before I knock you outta my bed.”

With a grumble, they resume their previous position.

“Good night,” Peter chimes before giving Donnie’s chest a light peck, right over his heart.

“Night, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you, more.”

“Impossible.”

“Try me.”


	2. three times Peter almost told Donnie he loved him, one time he did, and the time he didn't have to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt so good to be Donnie's friend. A real friend. Not the kind that was slowly killing him. The trade off, though, was that it would slowly kill Peter instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I wanted to post this yesterday on Donnie Darko Day but in the time since the first part of this was posted I had a fuckin baby so. Time to work on this has been fleeting. ANYWAY!! Sequel no one asked for but I'm forcing upon you regardless. Hope you like it! If you wanna bless ur eyeballs, check this shit out by my good man fungii from the first chapter [>:3cc](https://twitter.com/johnnywilcocks/status/1289682442077364224)

When Peter was in kindergarten, there was a boy with blond hair and cargo pants that always had a toy dinosaur in at least two of the pockets. His name was Gabe. When Peter was 10, there was this very shy boy in his math class who really liked airplanes. His name was Justin. Then when Peter turned 14 there was a junior with light brown skin who played tennis for the school. He noticed that every time he saw him wipe his face with his shirt, his heart would do this flippy thing… which probably meant he was gay.

Even though Peter never found out Tennis Boy’s name, he was all Peter could think about the entire school year; taut skin and sweat-damp black hair that was long enough to fit in a ponytail. He never really cared about sports until then. Every morning on the announcements, he would listen closely to updates on the tennis team’s road to state finals and wonder which of the names listed off were _his._

As he got older, the boys he liked all fell within one very specific category; the jock who everybody votes to be prom king. They felt safe, they felt easy to like and they were! They were these idols of the school and Peter was soothed by the idea that he wasn’t the only person who probably had crushes on them. So maybe he wasn’t actually all that strange for being gay.

_Then there was Donnie Darko. This tornado of a boy with a laugh like razor sharp onyx and eyes that cut just as deep. He had no friends, slouched in his seat and talked to himself when he walked home. He laughed when the teachers lost their train of thought, like he was making fun of them and Peter never wanted so badly to be in on a joke._

\---

Moving was stressful enough without the recent death of your uncle, who took you in after your parents died, to go along with it. Stack on top of that leaving all of your friends behind in the bustling city of Queens to hunker down in some mountain town in northern Virginia and you’ve got yourself the perfect recipe to turn one almost-out gay kid into the most closeted sad sack of adolescence this side of the Mason Dixon.

Aunt May is nice. She wasn’t always. Her and Uncle Ben’s divorce had everything to do with Peter’s parents’ death no matter how they tried to make it seem like it didn’t. She moved down here to rediscover her more artistic side, thinking dewy mornings with thin mountain mist would do that for her. It got her far enough to afford her own house with a yard, which was enough of a culture shock in of itself. A yard with a little fence around it that comes up to Peter’s hip. It stops before the walkway up to the steps from the sidewalk. It’s a completely pointless, useless fence. 

His room was empty. Not the kind of empty that makes a guest feel welcomed by how a special place has been set aside and prepared for them, like how Peter would imagine his artsy aunt would feel about a blank canvas, but the kind of empty where there wasn’t even a bed frame or blinds on the window yet. Peter sighed and let his bags crash to the hardwood floor.

“First thing after school tomorrow, we’re going furniture shopping!” May exclaimed with an excited clap.

 _“Tomorrow?!_ ” Peter complained, “May, I don’t even have a sleeping bag--”

“No, no, don’t worry! I set up the couch downstairs for you!”

By now, Peter’s head was throbbing from about a dozen frustrations so when he rolled his eyes, he didn’t care to be subtle about it.

Starting your first day of school with a wrinkled uniform (no hangers for his closet) and a sore shoulder (crappy old couch) was not fun.

Apparently, Peter wasn’t walking fast enough down the hall he hoped was the one that would lead him to homeroom for someone behind him. They knocked into his sore shoulder, made his backpack slip off and his schedule fly out of his hand.

No one stopped to help him.

Peter’s eyes tracked the boy who didn't even check to see who he crashed into as he jogged to approach someone walking the opposite direction. That person’s head was down, looking at the ground. Not in a way that made him seem sad or afraid. Distant moreso, somewhere else. When he looked up, his eyes were blue and his mouth naturally curved up at the corners. He had beauty marks all over his face and beautiful they made him indeed.

It wasn’t until they passed by him that Peter realized he was still kneeling on the floor. He twisted his body nearly completely around to watch that cheshire boy walk past and finally let out a shaky breath he was holding. Why did he feel like he’s barely missed getting struck by lightning? Hair standing on end and all.

There was a loud stomp behind him and Peter jumped as he whipped to face forward again. It was a girl with skin like wet sand and hair tied back with an elastic that had to be on its last leg. She had an atmosphere of curls around her skull.

“Whaddya doin’?” She was chewing on a toothpick.

Peter swallowed. “Uh. I...I dropped my stuff.”

The toothpick switched sides in the girl’s mouth. “You’re a new kid.” The way she said it made it seem like Peter did something wrong already.

“Yeah…” He replied, too scared to stand up because he didn’t want her to think he was trying to size her up. Though, even with him on the floor, he could tell she was taller than him so such a thing was impossible.

“Where’s your first class?”

“Uh…” Peter held his schedule in two hands, flipped it right side up--no, wait, it was right side up before. Crap, he forgot how to read! “2...206?”

Toothpick Girl scoffed. “Wrong hall.” Then she pointed in the same direction Lightning Strike Boy went. “That way. C’mon, get up, I’ll show you.” And she just took off in a commanding strut without waiting for Peter to get up. He trailed after her like a baby duck.

“My name’s Peter,” he piped up finally as they went through a set of double doors. He dashed through, needing to rotate his body to make the gap.

“Cool. I’m M.J. Stands for Massacre Jones.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond six different ways and nothing came out but stammering.

She didn’t say she was kidding so Peter believed her.

They got to the door and thankfully it was still wide open since the bell hadn’t rung yet. As soon as he walked in, he was in the back of the classroom.

The teacher, Ms. Pomeroy, who Pete would have mistaken for a student were it not for her lack of uniform with her shoulder length blood-red hairy and dainty glasses straps, took notice of the boy standing completely still in her doorway. 

“May I help you?” She asked, but she didn’t seem very excited to see him. What was it about this place that made everyone so standoffish to new people?

Every single student turned to look at him and Peter felt like he was going to throw up.

He looked around the room in quick bursts until lightning struck him this time, right through his chest; Cheshire Boy. He had awful posture. Peter blinked hard, as if that would snap him out of staring at him. 

“Yeah I just started here today?”

“And you’re late to my class, why?”

Someone puffed out a sticky, venomous laugh. It was the kid who nearly bowled him over in the hallway.

Peter wished he was ballsy enough to say something. Keeping his head low felt safer though, like always. 

“I got lost.”

“Hm. Alright. Sit in any empty seat.”

‘Any empty seat’ implied there was more than one. There wasn’t. There was just one. 

There was a very distinct predator-prey way that Cheshire Boy watched him sit beside him. It was terrifying and Peter’s heart pounded.

Roll was called in alphabetical order of last names. Just like with Tennis Boy back in Queens—who was probably enjoying being some blonde girl’s boyfriend by now. It’s always a blonde girl—Peter tensed every time a boy's name was called and waited for the hand beside him to raise.

“Miles Austin.”

No hand.

“Brandon Baker.”

No hand. That’s good, there was a cute boy in Peter’s old Earth Science class named Brandon who he thought about talking to only to find out he called some poor girl a ‘fucking dyke’ when her only crime was having short hair. He’s hated the name Brandon ever since.

“Lawrence Campbell.”

No hand.

“Hank Cook.”

No hand again. Peter’s heart was gonna give out at this rate. And they were only at the C’s—

“Donald Darko.”

Hand. 

…

HAND?!

_DARKO?!_

His last name was Darko?! With a first name like Donald?!

Paying attention became a little more difficult after that. The barometric pressure was different in this part of the classroom. Peter could feel a weight in his chest, eyes on the side of his face, the entire period.

He managed only a single glance in the boy’s direction and Donald was staring right back. Peter damn near leapt out of his skin and didn’t dare look again.

——-

Donald Darko went by Donnie. Thank God.

Donnie kept the first two buttons of his uniform shirt undone. At least he had the decency to wear an undershirt. Peter was only so strong in his will not to imagine every cute boy he saw shirtless. 

_Stop thinking about him like that, you don’t even know him!! You can’t get all_ **_gay_ ** _for the first guy you see!_

But he did. God, he did. 

It wasn’t even a crush with giddy butterflies in his gut. Donnie was simply, incredibly, painfully, unfairly hot. And it was in that puzzling way where Peter was certain if he showed a stranger Donnie’s picture they wouldn’t think he was anything special. But to Peter, Donnie was nothing _but_ special. Hair that dark usually didn’t come with eyes that bright. And eyes that bright almost never came with a smile that wicked. All of those things together and you imagine someone with facial piercings and missing eyebrows but Donnie kept his uniform neat and his backpack orderly. He was always on time for class even though he was the last one off the bus. 

His friends were so loud and even though he barely talked to them, they hung around him like vultures, constantly circling. They’re waiting for him to die, MJ said one time. 

Peter’s eyes flashed to where she sat across the cafeteria table, concern evident in his furrowed brow. “Die?!”

She nodded once, sharply. “Turn him into one of them. You die when you become what they are.”

Peter forced a small laugh. “Loud?”

MJ didn’t blink, her expression hard. “A bully. Whatever eats dead things. Scavenge the dead souls of kids who can’t defend themselves. The cycle starts over when they make someone else be their friend.”

Peter still didn’t understand. Why did that mean they died?

That was the first time MJ looked like she didn’t have the entire world eating out of her hand. It worried Peter. 

After that, Peter felt that Donnie needed saving. If he wasn’t like them, why was he with them? He was studious and shy. He held his books at his side with a casual cantor, the picture of nonchalant, but Peter noticed once that his knuckles gripped white along the spines. He was scared to drop them, maybe? Was he holding something back as he stared down at the ground while the vultures jeered at every living thing around them? 

Did Donnie not want to lose whatever semblance of friendship he had?

‘I can be your friend’ Peter caught himself lightly mouthing into his palm as he stared, yet again, at Donnie from across the classroom. 

It took a month for Peter to say something to him. It was right after their final class of the day and the vultures weren’t waiting for him in the hall like usual. 

“Did you finish the English project yet?”

Donnie didn’t move but somehow Peter could tell he startled him. Threw him way off balance. When his adam’s apple bounced with his gulp, Peter watched.

In a cocky tone that didn’t match how he’d just clearly lost his footing, he responded; “Turned it in last week.” His smile added a stinging _‘What, you aren’t done yet?’_ aftertaste and it made Peter dread to think that Donnie had already started to die. 

The next day Peter turned his project in and made it a point to tell Donnie when he did.

“Good for you,” Donnie replied so sarcastically it hurt.

It was so strange that Peter didn’t get discouraged by how easily Donnie shot him down every time he tried to speak to him.

Eventually, though, something gave and Peter had no idea what. In the one class that he, MJ and Donnie all had together, Donnie made a snotty remark under his breath that caught Peter off guard. He laughed in a singular, disruptive burst. It got them both detention.

Ever since, Donnie started talking to Peter out of nowhere. In the beginning, it was small talk that seemed very forced. Even still, just that was enough to make a science project with him not torture.

“Do you want to come over to my house and work on it?” Peter offered.

Donnie took a beat to reply. “Yeah. Fine. You wanna walk there after school?”

“Oh, uh…” Peter faltered. “I take the bus home. I live kinda far…”

“Gotcha.”

Donnie also lived far enough from school that he had to take the bus, but he always walked home. Never to school, though. Peter wanted to ask why one day.

For now, Peter felt a panic in him when he saw Donnie’s expression fall. Just enough to be noticed.

“But it’s nice out. We can walk if you want.”

Oddly, Donnie didn’t seem to perk up much but he still agreed.

While they walked, Donnie came alive in a way that left Peter, once again, speared by a bolt of lightning.

“Ms. Thomas is a real bitch.” He just _said_ that! Like it was nothing at all to insult a teacher. _And_ swear!!

“What?!”

“Givin’ me detention because _you_ made a noise.”

Peter felt his chest puff out. “ _You’re_ the one who made me laugh!”

Donnie seemed to take Peter’s attempt to argue as a joke because he laughed. It sounded really nice. Peter deflated.

“That ain’t my fault! I was talking to myself, you eavesdropped.”

“Well, what you said wasn’t nice anyway so I’m glad you got in trouble.”

“Yeah, I am, too.”

“What, you like getting detention?”

“I like the quiet.”

Peter scoffed and adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. “Then you aren’t gonna like my house. My aunt is from New York and yells everything.”

“Can’t be worse than having two sisters who wanna fuck with me constantly.”

Peter made himself smile. “I wouldn’t know but I guess that sounds annoying.”

“It sucks. You’re lucky you don’t live with your parents.”

Peter didn’t see the bump in the sidewalk from a tree root pushing up beneath it. He tripped and fell. Hard.

Donnie laughed just as much until he noticed Peter was hurt.

While Peter limped home, Donnie carried his backpack and Peter tried not to think about how he slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing despite having four big textbooks inside. As he trailed behind him, Peter took the opportunity to enjoy how broad Donnie’s shoulders were. 

The rest of the time to Peter’s house was quiet until they came up to the walkway and Donnie said so matter-of-factly;

“That’s a useless fence.”

* * *

Loving Donnie felt worlds different from just liking him. Liking him was wanting his parents to be more understanding of his mental health. Loving him was wishing Peter’s own parents were alive to meet him. Liking him was wanting to kiss all his little birthmarks. Loving him was remembering that old wives tale where every birthmark is where you in a past life were either kissed by a lover or killed by your enemy and thinking about how many times Donnie must have lived to get so many.

Peter’s liked plenty of boys before and just as easily did he start, he stopped.

With Donnie, there was no stopping. Every day there was something new that caught Peter by surprise. After they got a 100 on some homework they stayed up together working through, Donnie went on and on about it. Only on the walk home, though. When they were alone.

> " _You were right about number 6. I woulda bet money I was right. No wonder my grades have been shit. Now I got you.’"Then, he shoved a big hand through Peter’s hair, making a bigger mess of his curls. The slight tug on his scalp sent_ something _through Peter’s body. Something that was so close to the white-hot want he read about in those happily ever after’s. It made him quiet._

The more they saw of each other, the more Donnie drifted away from those vultures. He still got in plenty of trouble, it just didn’t have anything to do with hurting other people. And Peter was with him: Throwing rocks at passing traffic, skipping class to sit behind the gym (Donnie would smoke, Peter would pull his shirt over his nose and they’d joke at each other all afternoon), setting piles of dead brush on fire in the middle of a parking lot.

It felt so good to be Donnie’s friend. A real friend. Not the kind that was slowly killing him. The trade off, though, was that it would slowly kill Peter instead.

* * *

The first time hit Peter in the gut like a dodge ball in gym class. Knocked the wind right out of him. That’s because it was and it did.

Karma, Peter decided it was. It had to be. For sneaking all those long glances at Donnie while he changed. Turns out, he had those little dots all over his body and it seemed like every week he’d sprout a new one. Each more eager to be kissed than the last. There was one right below his ear that drove Peter practically nuts. The same could be said about the ones he knew Donnie couldn’t see: on his shoulder blades, his spine, the nape of his neck.

_THWACK!!_

The teacher sent him right to the nurse on account of his head making a particularly panic-inducing thud against the polished floorboards. And who else would carry him there than Donnie Darko. Not that either of them needed much convincing. Donnie sprinted right over to him and Peter was too rattled around to protest very much as Donnie hoisted him up. He stopped seeing stars right as the nurse slapped a cold pack on the goose egg that had formed on the back of his skull.

Peter hissed from the collision and sudden shock of temperature.

“You okay?” Donnie asked once a curtain separated them from the nurse and the rest of the school.

“Yeah. Sorry you had to carry me.”

“You don’t usually space out,” Donnie worried.

“Uh…” Without thinking, his hand moved from keeping the ice pack in place and Donnie, fast as anything, held it before the thing even had time to drop.

Then. That’s when it happened. Donnie’s hand on the back of his head with a concerned expression after saying something that tells Peter that he notices things about him. Little things. Like how getting hit with a dodgeball might mean something is wrong.

He was gonna say it. Even if it was as cowardly as _‘I think I like you.’_

_‘I think_ ’ because that gives Donnie somewhere to escape to; if Peter isn’t sure, then Donnie doesn’t feel trapped on the receiving end of a one-sided crush. ‘ _Like’_ because _‘love’_ is too strong for someone in high school. You don’t actually love anyone when you’re sixteen, everyone knows that. This is so much stronger than ‘like’ though...

“Pete?”

He blinked and Donnie was much closer than he was a second ago. Peter felt himself blush. Gross. He’s being gross. Donnie is his friend. 

“I’m okay. Sorry. You can go back now, I’m just gonna lay down.”

“I can stay. I don’t give a fuck about gym.”

When Peter’s heart thudded against his ribs, it hurt. Way more than his head did.

“I know but someone should tell Mr. Tillben I’m not bleeding out everywhere,” Peter joked.

Donnie took Peter’s wrist and made him hold the cold pack on his bump. “Alright. Make sure you’re better by next period. See ya.”

“Bye.”

As soon as Donnie was out of earshot, Peter groaned at himself and fell forward onto the bed. Face first, hoping to smother himself in the scratchy blanket. Idiot.

* * *

The second time was when Peter first came over to Donnie’s house. It wasn’t fun, Peter’s heart ended up broken. Everything started out well enough. The two of them walked from school as usual, laughing and complaining about the world around them. Then as soon as they walked through the front door, Donnie forced them to speed up to his room. He had a grip on Peter’s wrist as he stormed through very quick introductions;

“This is Peter, no you can’t talk to him, we’re going to my room so don’t bother us.”

All Peter could think about was how Donnie’s fingers touched around his wrist.

Peter was looking forward to this all week and couldn’t shake how the idea of being allowed Donnie’s room felt private and rare.

> _“Is it okay if we just stay in my room?” Donnie asked._
> 
> _“Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever you want,” Peter replied in a fluster_. 

He wanted that night to be the night. They would be somewhere Donnie felt most secure--seeing as new places put him on edge, made him shut down--somewhere Donnie has authority and could make of Peter’s confession whatever he wanted. It was considerate, all things said and done.

Peter couldn’t help himself in being optimistic. What if Donnie was excited? What if he felt the same way and it was eating away at him the same way Peter had endured? This could be the best night of their lives! Finally, Peter won’t feel that cavernous longing every second of his life just to have a _someone_. A gay kid in the 80’s has it rough enough, May says.

Peter grabbed Donnie’s hand away from his wrist and there it is, they were holding hands once they were away from his family and going quickly down the hall to Donnie’s room. They were holding hands! He could feel their pulses alternating. Or maybe that was Peter’s own heart going crazy. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t think--him and Donnie were holding hands!!

As soon as the door closed behind them, Peter was gonna blurt it out. He felt the words bubbling like a shaken up bottle of champagne, ready for the ball to drop on New Year’s.

Donnie’s bedroom door was the only one, besides the bathroom, that had a lock on it. Depending on how well this all went, they may need to utilize it. What if they kissed? God, his first kiss! Peter knew the kind of kisser Donnie was, just by how much he’s thought about it. He was an attacker, someone who leapt the distance between him and the other person. Maybe to get it over with, maybe to hurry and get started. Either way, Peter couldn’t wait for it.

Peter braced himself against the closed door and watched Donnie toe his sneakers off.

“Donnie--”

When he knelt down to pick up his shoes, that’s when Peter saw them, Donnie’s action unveiling them. Two posters on the far end wall. The models were very pretty, their bikinis were cute. They smiled but Peter heard them laughing at him. Their hair reached the smalls of their backs, all bouncy waves with the summer sun behind them. They were everything a boy would lust for. A straight boy. Not someone who thought about boys the way Peter did, not someone who looked at his best friend and wanted his hands all over him, under his clothes. Not someone who got his hand held and will feel that grip on him for weeks.

Peter froze, his eyes on the posters, then Donnie stood upright and blocked his view of them again. The after-image burned itself into Peter’s eyes, he saw them when he blinked. His throat felt tight. Swallowing hurt. Breathing hurt. Heartbreak. Peter got his heart broken by two pieces of paper taped to some painted drywall. Pathetic.

“Yeah?” Peter didn’t hear Donnie’s voice at first. The world clicked back into motion with a watery blink.

“Huh?”

“You said my name.”

“I did?”

Donnie laughed, his mouth snapping into a grin. “Yeah, ya weirdo.”

“I, uh. Forgot.” Peter swallowed again and felt sick to his stomach. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Go for it.”

Peter ran and didn’t make it two strides down the hall before his first sob ripped through him, muffled by the hand pressed against his mouth.

* * *

The third time didn’t happen for a long while. Almost a year. And Peter doesn’t remember it. He wouldn’t have ever brought his feelings up again, but he got drunk. Donnie was having a really bad go of things, stole some rum from his house and told Peter to meet him where he used to shoot old bottles.

Peter got there first and stood from the thread-bare couch someone dumped there a couple years ago when he saw Donnie trudge up the small embankment. His heart dropped when he saw how Donnie stumbled and swayed.

“Hey,” Peter offered and tried not to sound devastated. The medications Donnie took weren’t supposed to be mixed with alcohol. Usually that wouldn’t be a worry for a seventeen year old but Donnie liked beer and drank when he was angry. One time he mentioned that his parents had resigned to letting him _‘because it keeps him quiet’._ After a really bad reaction where Donnie hallucinated and fell head first into a panic attack, Peter made him promise not to drink anymore. 

> _“As long as you’re my friend, I’m not gonna watch you be stupid and hurt yourself!”_
> 
> _“Alright. I’m sorry.”_

But here he was, breaking that promise. Peter breathed through the sting of betrayal. 

“What happened?” Peter continued when Donnie didn’t return his greeting.

“The fuck you think?” Donnie spat back and it took actual effort not to recoil.

Peter swallowed hard. They’ve been here before, he knows what to do.

“I’ll listen to you, Donnie.”

That always made him relax, being heard, being allowed to feel things that no one else did. He had a chemical imbalance in his head that made him do things a crazy person would. Donnie wasn’t crazy. He just needed to be listened to and, every once in a while, just by Peter, told the world wasn’t ending.

Even though his grades were improving, Donnie had no desire to go on to college. His parents didn’t like that.

What Peter can tell you about that night is that they stayed out until morning, drank a lot of liquor and hangovers sucked.

What Peter can’t tell you about that night is that right around the end of the bottle, he was laying on his side with Donnie behind him, breathing slow against his nape. Both of them were almost asleep when Donnie cracked up.

Peter craned his neck to look back. “What?”

“Are we fuckin’ snuggling right now?”

Peter fumbled over the realization. “I laid down first.”

“And, what, I’m s’pposed to lay in the dirt?”

“Yeah.”

“No…” he sounded legitimately hurt.

Peter spat out a small laugh. “Nah, buddy, you’re supposed to be here.”

“Yeah.”

Peter heard Donnie take a swig and sat up quick when he coughed on it.

“Hey…” Peter warned. “Don’t drink laying down, ya stupid.”

He sat up also and turned toward him.

“Listen, there’s somethin’ I gotta--”

What Peter can’t tell you is that he was right; Donnie was the kind of kisser that raced to close the distance. He was the kind of kisser who shoved his tongue in, or at least he is when he’s drunk. Peter, unbeknownst to himself, was the kind of kisser who melted and held on for dear life.

Donnie chuckled when they separated and Peter stayed so still. He fell in love with Donnie all over again. He could have died right there, with his face in Donnie’s hands.

“Wuzzat bad?”

“No…”

That was Peter’s first kiss and even though it was with the boy he wanted, it felt stolen.

The whole night was gone like a dream you forget as soon as you wake up. In the morning, Donnie was laying in the dirt.

* * *

“You know?! What do you mean _you know?!”_

MJ swallowed her mouthful of applesauce. “Are you serious? Like...that’s a serious question for me to answer?”

Peter sputtered.

“No straight guy in this school has his shirt all the way buttoned who doesn’t have a girlfriend. You’re basically begging a pair of big, muscly hands to rip it open.”

Peter squeezed his knees together and flushed. 

“S...So you don’t mind?”

“Mind that you’re gay or that you’re so in love with Darko that it’s making the flowers grow?”

Peter’s jaw dropped. 

“Is it...obvious?”

MJ shook her head. “Not as much as you think. I just observe people.”

“A little too much, don’tcha think?”

MJ made a noncommittal noise.

…

“Wanna know if he’s figured it out?”

Peter nearly shot over the table. “He can’t have!”

“Nah. Totally clueless.”

Relief sat Peter back into his seat.

“Why won’t you come out to him?”

Peter’s appetite for the full cafeteria tray in front of him has all but vanished. “He’s straight.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m used to it.”

“I know what you mean,” MJ muttered as she finished the rest of her applesauce like a shot.

Peter blinked as his eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait--”

“You should still say something. I don’t think he’d care.”

“I don’t think so either but things are fine now. I don’t not love being his straight best friend.”

“You’re hiding all the time, though. That’s freaking exhausting.”

“It’s fine.”

The chatting students around them sounded like TV static.

“He still coming over tonight?”

Peter nodded.

“You tell him about Nebraska yet?”

Peter looked into his lap and shook his head.

MJ stood from the table and took up their trays.

“Honestly,” she started again as she sat, “I don’t really care if you guys live happily ever after or not, I just need you to do one thing for me.”

“Sure,” Peter shrugged.

“Get Elizabeth’s number for me, would ya?”

* * *

Donnie came over for homemade lasagna and a sci-fi movie marathon.

Peter spent so much of the night watching Donnie’s mouth while he talked. He liked commenting on movies as they watched and Peter preferred Donnie’s critiques over the actual plot.

As the credits started on the last movie, it was about midnight. May went to bed hours ago but she sleeps like the dead so they didn’t have to worry about the TV volume or the popcorn cooking in the microwave.

Peter got up to refill their drinks and Donnie spoke after him. “So fuckin’ happy the school year’s almost over.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied as his stomach sank. He was leaving before the start of summer break.

“So, in June, we’re going up to our lake house. Wanna come?”

Thankfully, when Peter looked up from the counter with a pained gasp, Donnie was too far away to hear.

“Uh. I don’t...think I can.”

“Oh.”

Peter felt a lump in his throat as he tripped over himself not to turn how disappointed Donnie sounded into something it wasn’t.

“Sorry…”

“You busy or something?”

It occurred to him then that he’d never turned down any chance to hang out.

“I, uh…” It’s easier to speak when he isn’t looking at Donnie or his mouth. “I got into this summer school for an engineering program.”

Donnie wasn’t saying anything.

“It’s in Nebraska.”

Peter flinched when he heard Donnie’s thudding footsteps rapidly approach.

“You’re leaving?!”

He’s mad.

“Not for good!” defended Peter.

“For how long?! We have one more year of school!”

Peter had seen Donnie’s wrath taken out on bottles of beer, the side of cars, piles of dead wood covered in gasoline. He never thought he’d be on the receiving end.

“Well that’s what the summer classes are for. I’d go to class and get my diploma early and then--”

“And then _leave_!”

Peter’s voice got quieter and quieter as he went on. “I’m coming back in a couple years.”

“Yea-- _YEARS?!”_

“Donnie…” Peter warned. May might be a heavy sleeper but she wouldn’t sleep through shouting.

“So you were gonna wait how long to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now…”

The harsh contrast in how each of them were speaking might have looked bad but Donnie had every right to be upset.

“Yeah, no shit. After you had no choice.”

He wasn’t not wrong.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter couldn’t look up from the floor until he heard Donnie take a deep breath.

“When are you leaving?”

“In a few weeks.”

“Right after the end of the year.”

Peter nodded.

He could see gears working behind Donnie’s eyes.

“Do you want May to drive you home?” Peter offered and even he thought he sounded pitiful.

Donnie’s expression shifted so greatly it took Peter by storm. His heart fluttered.

“No--no, I don’t want to leave. Not after you tell me I only have a few weeks before you’re gone.”

His chest ached so much.

“I was gonna tell you as soon as I found out but it was right before the thing with Elizabeth happened and--”

“You wanna watch another movie?”

Peter went a little slack-jawed. “I...yeah, sure. You can pick.”

“Back To the Future.”

“Again?” chuckled Peter.

Donnie didn’t talk through it this time.

Peter yawned as the movie concluded and as he went to eject the tape, he noticed Donnie was still laying down on his side of the couch. Asleep. All curled up like he was freezing cold but Peter knew that’s just how he liked to sleep.

The living room was pitch black except for the amber street lights streaking through the curtains into Donnie’s hair. Peter sat in front of him, knees to his chest and arms crossed on top.

He’d never felt Donnie’s hair before. As short as it was, it was impossible to tell but somehow Peter knew he had curls hidden in there somewhere.

“You asleep?” he asked quietly. No response.

Fire went through every nerve as Peter smoothed a hand through Donnie’s short bangs. It was soft. A little greasy, but really soft.

Donnie stirred and Peter froze, petrified that yanking his hand back might disturb him more. But Donnie kept sleeping.

Peter leaned his chin on his other elbow and spoke as faintly as he absolutely could.

It’s okay if he says it now, right? Just to say he did, just to get it out of him. It’s not like anything would have happened if Donnie was awake anyway.

When he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Even though he knew Donnie wouldn’t hear, even though he was totally safe. 

One more time.

“...”

Peter ducked his head and gently retreated his hand. Even when there was nothing to lose, he couldn’t do it. In his sixteen years of life, he’d never told someone he wasn’t related to that he loved them. Mostly the reason is he realized, because of Donnie, he hadn’t actually loved like this before. Let alone had the opportunity for a proper confession.

It was scary. It was make-you-feel-like-your-body-is-full-of-ice-water scary. Telling Donnie he was leaving didn’t compare to this. Maybe that was because him going away wasn’t permanent. Being gay was. Being in love with Donnie was.

“I love you…”

He whispered it into his lap in the pitch black with his eyes closed.

Again, his heart ordered. Miraculously, Peter _wanted_ to say it again.

Peter lifted his head and felt himself start to cry. Donnie hadn’t moved.

“I’m sorry, Donnie, but I love you. I love you so much that it hurts.” He rubbed his nose into the bend of his arm and wondered what would have happened if their roles were switched; Donnie being in love with Peter and using every ounce of courage he had to tell him. What an impossible, wonderful idea.

* * *

How the heck is he supposed to maintain his cool when Donnie gave him _his_ pajamas to use?! Peter stands in the same bathroom where he cried over those posters just months ago wearing Donnie’s freaking pajamas! Well, half-wearing them. The pants, even with the waistband rolled over several times and the ends cuffed, look ridiculously huge on him. The shirt fits in the sense of the word that it doesn’t immediately fall off him.

His heart stampedes an erratic rhythm behind his ribs. Donnie’s Old Spice smell is all around him and Peter’s mind floods with how Donnie can fill this shirt out with his arms and chest and back and—

He’s hard. And without even his underwear, he’s making a tent just above the hem.

Peter’s face flames and channels the memory of walking in on May dancing around the kitchen in only her day robe.

Blugh. Okay. Deep breaths. Okay. He can wear something else for bottoms or at least stay hidden long enough until it goes away. If it does… Normally it takes Peter actually getting off in order to settle down. He’ll go right under the covers and no one will be the wiser.

He shuffles back to Donnie’s room, the bottoms folded over his arm.

When he walks in after admitting how he has the body of a twelve year old and Donnie’s clothes don’t fit--actually, it’s probably more that Donnie somehow has the body of a twenty-something--Donnie looks...weird. Tense and panicky.

Peter opens his mouth to ask if he’s okay when--

“I love you.”

Peter drops Donnie’s pants. He can’t tell if this is what unbearable happiness feelings like or if he’s having a heart attack.

Probably a heart attack. 

Peter’s pulse ticks once and he musters the strength to weakly ask; “What?”

“What?” Donnie barks back, clearly realizing he said something he didn’t mean to.

Of course the one time, the one goddamn time, Peter might get his own little slice of being in love, it’s a mistake.

He swallows, feeling his heart slowly pump life back into him. Everything hurts.

“Y...you said--”

Donnie interrupts him. He’s mad. Great.

Peter wants to find the nearest pothole and die in it.

“Did you...mean to…?” And here he is spoon feeding an escape route to Donnie. Heartbreak aside, Peter desperately wants Donnie to know everything is going to be okay. The night can go on as if nothing happened. By now, Peter’s a master at pretending everything is just fine.

“No.”

_It’s okay. It’s okay, Donnie._

“Yes? I-I did. I’ve been wanting to but...ah, fuck!”

Wait. Whoa. Wait, wait wait.

Still trying to take care of everything, put out the fire that is obviously starting inside Donnie’s brain, Peter throws him another lifeline.

“Do you want me to go?” _Because I will. I’ll go and I’ll stop you from feeling things that aren’t real._

Why does Donnie look like he’s about to cry? Hang on…

“No. Do you want to go?”

_I won’t move an inch for the rest of my life unless you say so._

“No.”

Before something else goes off, Peter gently calls his friend, trying to bring him back to earth.

“You need the air mattress,” Donnie snaps and marches to his closet.

Oh, no. He’s going to panic. Peter’s gotten good at picking out when Donnie’s brain switches to ‘self-destruct’.

“Donnie,” he says in a tight, stern way before he’s on him immediately. Donnie needs something tactile in order to refocus. Peter lightly grabs his arm to stop him from pacing all over his room.

Why does he look so sad? Does he really think he said something wrong and there’s no way Peter isn’t stupidly in love with him?

He has to know one thing for sure. “Did you…I mean. Did you mean it?”

When Donnie nods, Peter feels his brain snap in half.

“Oh…” is all he can manage.

And then Donnie apologizes.

Peter scrambles to shove his brain matter back together so he can coherently form words.

“No, that’s not what I mean! Uh…” 

Crap, crap, crap! What does he do?! Words aren’t working, every thought in his head is a jumbled mess of vocabulary slush!

It’s like some puppeteer takes ahold of Peter’s strings because all of a sudden he’s kissing Donnie and has no idea how. As far as kisses go, Peter assumes, this one isn’t that good. It shut them both up, that’s for sure, but Peter isn’t even certain he got Donnie on the lips.

When he falls back, Donnie’s got a red mark around the right side of his mouth. So he didn’t miss. Kind of. 

“Oh, my God…” he hears himself mutter. Just as Peter is reaching to touch his own lips, Donnie’s hands clasp his face and they’re kissing. Again. Again? _Donnie_ is kissing _him?!_

This time, Peter loses himself in it. He turns his head to the side and Donnie pushes harder against him. They’re chest to chest, Peter grapples for a solid bearing on the front of Donnie’s shirt just so his hands have somewhere to be. God, he has no idea what he’s doing...

Donnie’s hands are ice against Peter’s bare skin--he’s touching him?! Peter lets out a noise of shock from the cold and the meer notion that Donnie wants to...touch him. Like this. Like how Peter’s been begging to be touched. Now that he has it, it’s overwhelming immediately.

Watching Donnie frantically attempt to make his hands warmer is the most endearing thing Peter’s ever seen. He falls for him over and over again.

Peter slings his arms around Donnie’s neck when he’s kissed again-again so he doesn’t topple over or plummet to the ground if his knees give out. And it feels like they might. 

This kiss feels simple. Instead of rigid and hasty, Peter feels like molten metal in Donnie’s arms. His stomach has graduated from butterflies to this deep need lapping at the end of every synapse. God, he wants and he wants and he _wants_ because now it’s okay. Donnie’s kissing him and everything is just okay now.

Donnie moves to Peter’s neck and he accommodates shamelessly for him, letting his head fall back. 

Donnie asks him if he’s okay. Frankly, Peter has no idea. His gut reaction is ‘yes’. But if he thinks about it for a second too long, he realizes that they have this now but he’s still leaving tomorrow. Why was he so stupid? Why didn’t he say something? They’re out of time now.

“I kissed you…” Peter bemoans because it was such a crappy kiss.

“I kissed you, too.”

Yeah, and it was way, _way_ better.

They both sigh with bliss on their breath as Donnie discovers Peter’s body with his own. Oh, how Peter could stay like this forever, swimming in the feeling of being touched. Touched by Donnie, by the boy he loves so, so much.

His friend is quiet, his hands stop moving over his skin and instead press, then grip. Peter can’t help his wince.

Donnie’s apology is cut off by something, Peter isn’t going to ask what. The brief pain brought Peter back to the present and realizes he’s hard. Really hard. There’s no hiding it so he tries, pathetically, to make it go away. Aunt May. Old Aunt May in a bikini. Uh. MJ in a bikini!!

He’s squished against Donnie’s front and naked from the waist down. He’s doomed. Nothing can save him now.

There’s a huge gap you have to jump in order to go from affection to desire. Peter cleared that gap a year and a half ago. Donnie might have only just now realized he sees Peter as more than a friend. Despite everything that’s going on, Peter still feels dreadful for wanting Donnie as fiercely as he does.

“Oh, shit,” Donnie says slowly. “That’s all it takes, huh?”

Peter can hear the smile in his tone and his heart falls into his feet. 

“Shut up!!” _Please don’t, Donnie. Don’t turn back into one of those vultures, don’t pick me apart bit by bit. Don’t tease me for this. Anything but this…_

He’s breathing in to apologize when he’s kissed again. That’s...a good sign, right?

_OHMYGODHISTONGUEISINSIDE_

It’s a jerk reaction to yank his head away but Donnie keeps him close. Peter feels like he’s drowning.

“Use your tongue,” Donnie orders against his mouth and _God_ does that send licks of fire all throughout him. His thighs press together out of reflex.

Unfortunately, Peter has to admit; “I dunno how…”

“You think I do?”

Peter bristles, “It feels like you do!’

For some reason, that gets Donnie riled up again and he curses before surging forward into another kiss. “Just do what I do.”

If he had any wits about him, Peter would come back with something having to do with how he can barely remember to breathe or stand up. How is he supposed to do all this too?

In concentrating much harder than anyone should on making out, Peter doesn’t notice how he gets pulled onto Donnie’s bed until he’s recoiling from the impact of smashing his forehead against Donnie’s collarbone.

He’s too late to pull the nightshirt hard over his lap, Donnie’s already staring. The urge to run away again is pounding adrenaline into his veins. It’s the fear of making Donnie angry that keeps him from swatting Donnie’s hand away as it reaches for him. Instead it lands gently on his hips and Peter realizes at the same time Donnie does that it’s glaringly obvious how he isn’t wearing underwear. 

“Hang on…”

He must look ridiculous. Hot shame makes him curl up, doing everything he can to disappear.

Then Donnie grabs the shirt and Peter almost screams for him to stop.

“Nononono wait! Before you say anything, this is why I asked about going to bed! I just wanted--”

Without warning, Peter’s on his back, caged by Donnie’s body. In the same abrasive way, his shirt gets hoisted up around his neck and all of a sudden, Peter wants to go home.

This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. Peter hasn’t let himself think about it in a long time but when he did, it was slow and Donnie would ask questions. They would smile at each other and try to be quiet in their giddy laughter.

Peter feels awful, hideous. Exposed. Just this side of violated…

Donnie doesn’t even know why, either.

“My underwear was wet, too…” he excuses. Weakly, he tugs at the shirt for Donnie to let him cover himself. No such luck.

_Stop staring. I’m sorry. You make me feel too many things. I wanted to go to bed and say good-bye so I could cry on the way to the airport._

Peter was ready for that. Not this. Not Donnie’s eyes on him like he wants him.

“Let go…” Peter’s about to cry. Why can’t he just let himself enjoy a good thing when it finally happens?

“Hang on,” Donnie growls.

Peter can’t. He pulls his lips in between his teeth and does his best to quietly sniffle.

Donnie’s attention flashes to his face and backs away at last.

Peter grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes like that will plug his tears.

Donnie asks what’s wrong because, of course, how Peter’s reacting must seem out of left field.

“I didn’t know this is what was gonna happen.”

“What do you mean…?” Peter’s never heard Donnie’s voice sound weak like this.

His arms fall straight out on either side. “This! Any of this! I just kissed you and now we’re doing this!”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

Oh, Donnie, that’s not the point!

Peter stares at Donnie’s ceiling. “I know! But it’s just…”

_It’s just that I should be over the moon that this is happening but all I can think is how you’re going to come to your senses, call me gross, a faggot, and I’ll still love you._

But he can’t say all that.

“I don’t know,” Peter falters.

“I can sleep downstairs, Pete. You want me to?”

Of all the reactions Peter thought Donnie would have, him thinking _he_ was the one doing something wrong wasn’t very high up on the list.

Peter sits up and does his best to compose himself.

“No. Can we just talk?”

\---

Well, they talk. And it turns out Donnie knows exactly what he’s talking about when he says he loves Peter.

It also turns out they’re a pair of idiots who wasted so much time.

Peter even went so far as to force himself to date MJ with the idea that since she’s his friend, and a girl, she should be his girlfriend. 

> _“Listen, I was ready to do whatever it took to make Darko invite me over with you so I could lock myself in his older sister’s room and show you morons how it’s done.”_
> 
> _“...How_ what’s _done?”_
> 
> _“Oh, you poor, stupid, wrinkly baby bird…”_

Peter leaves that part out, though.

\---

The tension in Peter’s body isn’t gone by the time Donnie is kissing him again but Donnie seems determined to work it out of him.

His mouth tastes like brownie batter.

The weight of him is heaven and finally, Peter gets to let himself feel anything and everything he wants. 

Donnie kisses him like he has to, coils his arms tight around Peter’s body in a way that makes him feel treasured.

He learns his nipples are really sensitive and that Donnie will go after them like mad.

Peter feels the Cheshire smile against his pulse and he swears he’s never been harder in his life. He can’t help how he grinds against Donnie’s front and almost weeps from the friction.

No matter what they do, how far they go, Peter isn’t going to last long.

As if Donnie knows that, he grabs Peter’s prick and it’s almost over right then. The only way this could have happened is if they were home alone and thank God for it. Peter is really, _really_ loud.

Donnie’s hands feel even bigger down there, and rougher. He lets go just as Peter feels himself start to come.

“Can I try something?” He asks.

_You can do whatever the heck you want…_

Peter watches with half-lidded eyes as Donnie gets up on his knees and pulls his pants down. He really does have those marks all over. There’s hair below his belly button that gets thicker as it goes. Whenever he gets a turn, Peter is definitely going to bury his nose in--

You have _got_ to be kidding…

No. No, that’s not fair. That’s...that’s just not okay!!

What Donnie lifts out of his underwear probably weighs as much as a house cat. Somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, behind the fight or flight, Peter’s proud of himself. 

Not that he’d love Donnie an ounce less if he wasn’t...well equipped but, it definitely helps.

This presents one problem though that can be summed up in a single question; How?

There’s no way.

\---

Some time later he’ll ask how Donnie knew what to do, and do it that well.

“You okay?”

“Uh-huh…” Peter slurs. He looks down. “You didn’t…”

Watching Donnie jerk off was hot as hell, though Peter isn’t able to take the active part in it that he wanted. Everything from the neck down is jello and it’s all he can do not to pass out.

He’s more than a little annoyed that Donnie used his shirt to clean them. Peter would have loved to fall asleep wrapped up tight in the smell of their sex. Presumptuous as it was of him to assume he could.

Nevertheless, Donnie strips his own shirt off and Peter doesn’t hide staring the way he used to at school. Donnie smirks and Peter’s heart clenches.

With the desk lamp at his back, Donnie looks beautiful. Overpowering and enormous, and so beautiful.

They say “I love you” at the same time and it’s something straight out of one of Peter’s dreams. He’s cried so much tonight, he doesn’t want to any more but it gets him choked up.

“I love you so much,” repeats Donnie.

Then he asks if this is a dream.

Oh, he’s perfect. Not a perfect person, not by a long shot, but he’s perfect for Peter and he’s going to spend every minute he can reminding him.

“Right?” Donnie persists and Peter’s soul hurts for him. How ever many times Peter’s woken up from being in Donnie’s arms while kissing his confession into his mouth, Donnie’s been through it more. And what a shock to the system that is.

Of course Peter has to bring his stupid string theory, multi-verse, combined realities ramblings into their pillow talk.

Donnie must really love him, or be the horniest guy Peter’s ever heard of, to still wanna keep going after the train wreck that got them here.

\---

When Peter thought there was no way…

There is.

But it feels like being split open from the inside out and no matter how sweet Donnie husks in Peter’s ear and how he hits all the right spots, Peter can still barely keep his sanity through it all.

He never thought he’d scream, though…

How many times has he come now? What day is it?

It took more kisses, lots of light touches and about half a dozen more ‘I love you’s before Peter felt like he wasn’t three feet away from his own body. Is sex always going to feel like this?

He’d be alright if it is.

* * *

They have cereal for breakfast the next morning and not the waffles, bacon and eggs that they’d talked about on account that they couldn’t bring themselves to get out of bed until ten minutes before May was going to pick him up.

The sun doesn’t feel very warm through Donnie’s window.

“You’re coming back for all the breaks, right?” Donnie asks as he watches Peter play with the light hairs on his forearm. They fell asleep with Donnie at Peter’s back and didn’t move a muscle all night.

“Yeah,” Peter assures. He’d hitchhike across the country if he had to.

“You wanna write me letters?”

Peter turns and kisses Donnie’s bicep. “Yeah. You gonna write me some back?”

“Nah, screw you.”

Peter’s laughs.

“You did that already.”

“No,” Donnie seems defensive. Peter rolls over and puts both his hands on Donnie’s chest. “I didn’t screw you. That was lovemaking.”

Despite how horrendously cheesy that sounds, Peter gets red up to his ears.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, we said ‘I love you’ during, that’s what makes it lovemaking. Everyone knows that.”

“Wha--that’s not right!”

“Sure is.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Oh, and you know everything?”

“Pretty sure.”

Peter pouts and Donnie kisses it right off his face.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whines.

“You don’t get to say that, you’re the one leaving.”

“Donnie, that’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you leaving after everything that happened last night.”

He has a point.

“Are you mad?”

Donnie sighs and pecks Peter’s forehead, right on the crease of his furrowed brows.

“Yeah, but not at you. I wish I said something sooner.”

“I know why you didn’t.”

Pause.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Donnie says slow into Peter’s hair.

“Yeah…”

Peter shifts and gets a zap of soreness from his tailbone to his knees. Without looking, he knows he’s covered in kiss bruises. That’ll be fun explaining to his aunt. No, really. It will be. She’s going to be so excited for them. 

He hopes hickeys last for weeks. He hopes they scar somehow.

“Oh!” Peter shouts. Donnie flinches, startled.

“Can MJ have Elizabeth’s number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could you tell I'm way more comfortable writing for the top when it comes to smut scenes? ;u;  
> Tell me what you think! I'm on twitter here [@permitfrogger](https://twitter.com/permitfrogger?s=21)

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write (even though it's been in my WIP purgatory since May...) so I hope you guys like it, too! This is half a present for my friend Fungii you can follow him [@johnnywilcocks](https://twitter.com/johnnywilcocks?s=21) and find the artwork from this AU [here.](https://twitter.com/johnnywilcocks/status/1254477507249799179?s=21) As usual, this was beta'd and edited by [orsaverba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orsaverba) (thank you bby ilu)
> 
> Moodboard by me :0
> 
> Let me know what you think! Follow me on twitter if ya wanna ^ ^ [@permitfrogger](https://twitter.com/permitfrogger?s=21)
> 
> There can (technically) be a sequel for after Peter leaves for fancy school but we'll see. :3 Or I could do one from Peter's perspective :00


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